for the sake of the golden boy
by Suk-fong
Summary: There are five things the world knows about Finnick Odair: He won his first Oscar at fourteen, he was voted the world's sexiest man for seven years running, he's a known womanizer, he's a damn good actor and he went to rehab. Annie Cresta is not impressed.


**disclaimer**: disclaimed.  
**dedication**: Happy Valentine's Day all you lovely Odesta people. I know it's late. Also for Thea, I hope you feel better!  
**notes**: THIS WAS ONLY SUPPOSED TO BE 1000 words max.

Guys it's long, it's so long. And it jumps around. Things aren't in much detail, until the end because I was trying to do this subtle metaphor thing, which loses the subtly because I'm point it out.

**title**: for the sake of a golden boy

* * *

It started out as a bit of good press, and a way to build his credibility, at least that's how Mags his manager sold it to him.

Because face it, there are five things the world knows about Finnick Odair:

won his first Oscar for best male actor at age fourteen, the youngest ever.

has been voted the sexiest man in the world by People's magazine, every year since he was eighteen.

is a notorious ladies man, never having a girl last longer than a week.

is a damn good actor.

year, he had to go to rehab for his coke addiction

The world still loves him, adding a bad boy edge to his sex god looks, but a recovering coke addict is a risky move that producers don't want to take a chance on. He's getting turned down for roles, something that's never happened.

That's why Mags suggested _Dancing With The Stars_, showing that he can deliver that he's multi-faceted and that he won't let his past disrupt his work.

He agreed, its good money. And the prize money he's going to donate to charity, something helping out addicts, he doesn't know what yet.

And he knows he'll not only be the biggest draw, but he'll be a shoo in to win, and he'll get the cougars as well.

It's a win-win.

But there's still a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, while he waits outside of the studio (he flat out refused to let cameras into his beach house, his life is out in the public eye but his home he refuses) to meet his partner.

This is six months, more or less of his life. He doesn't know how well he'll do it, he barely commits to films with six month shoots. It's too much of a commitment, and he doesn't like them.

He throws a smirk at the camera, 'Shall we?' The camera doesn't answer him, of course, but instead watches him as he saunters off to the door, he doesn't knock, instead he throws it open, and he interrupts classical musical in which he guesses they are filming his partner's introduction spiel.

The girl, small, in a green tank top and black leggings with leg warmers, doesn't miss a step, instead she follows through her leap, landing gracefully into a kick and some fancy footwork. He doesn't know who she is (He watched all the other seasons of _Dancing With The Stars _as research, his second Oscar as sociopath wasn't a fluke, he spent months researching behaviour patterns, but never told anyone because trade secrets.), so he assumes that to get the most views, they paired their headliner with a rookie.

She poses, and the music ends. He claps, and he expects her to chastise him for interrupting, or smile at him.

Instead his partner walks to where her purple water bottle is and drinks and he slowly stops clapping.

The studio, small, with mirrored walls is empty. He watches the camera crews exchange nervous looks.

'You must be the actor.' His partner says, with her back still turned to him.

The actor? He'd be insulted if the way she was ignoring him so deliberately isn't so entertaining. 'You must be the dancer.'

'Annie Cresta.' She turns, and he can finally fully take in his partner. She's tiny, five foot nothing to his six foot two frame, with long dark hair pulled up in a delicate bun. Her face is pale, and heart shaped and her eyes are big and green that reflects the lights oddly.

'Finn Odair.' He says, reaching out to take her hand, when he gets her hand he kisses it. She doesn't react, odd.

'Were you in Games of Thrones?' She asks, taking her hand back, and eying him up and down. He doesn't preen, though he has the sudden desire to make sure she notices how attractive and fit he is.

'No?' He asks, unsure of what she's implying.

'Oh. You remind me a lot of Jon Snow.' She says offhandedly, and he sees her reach into her bag to pull out a purple leather-covered agenda. 'What's your schedule? I need to know how often you can come in every week and for how long.'

He pulls out his iPhone, and he's flipping through his schedule. He's got a short indie film, where he's grieving his wife and he's also playing an Alpha werewolf on a guest stint on _Teen Wolf_. He's working five days a week, plus this.

'Weekends really.' He says, showing her his schedule.

She clucks her teeth, 'Great.' It doesn't sound happy, he gets a glimpse of her schedule, her handwriting in blue ink small, and deliberate with no wasted strokes.

She has performances almost every night, and matinees three days of week, as well as classes.

What the hell does she do?

'Every Saturday and Sunday then, come here no later than six.' She says marking it down. 'Everyone else will have practise over the week; we have to do it all in two days. '

He flips that around in his head, he'll have no social life. 'Alright.'

'It'll be hard.' She says, and he doesn't let his green eyes stop drop from her piercing stare, where there is an unsaid challenge.

'Go hard or go home.'

He thinks he might have passed whatever challenge she's set down, because she motions for his phone, and he gives it to her.

He watches as she puts her number in it, and then send herself a message. 'I'll text you the location and time. We've got the quick step first. If you have time, Youtube it so you know what I'm talking about. '

'What about today?' He accepts his phone and pockets it.

'General fitness, and seeing how well you can hit beats.' Annie says, looking down at his skinny jeans, his leather jacket and his white crew-neck shirt. 'I see you came prepared.'

He smirks and shrugs, a bit embarrassed. In all of the shows, there hasn't been a couple that started right away.

'Can you touch your toes in those pants?' Annie asks, curious more than sarcastic.

He tries, and there's a slight burn and he can only get to his ankles.

'Can you touch your toes normally?'

'Never tried.'

'Well try.' Annie says, grabbing his wrists and forcing him to bend down. His muscle burn and her grip is too strong, for someone for her size for him to pull away.

'Hey!'

'Do you want to win because you can actually do it? Or just because you're famous? Because if you want to win just because you're famous, than let me know. We can just go on stage, turn a few times and you can take off your shirt.' Annie says, and she lets go of his hand, he glares at her and there's fire in her eyes. 'But then you're only be known as this washed up crack addict actor who has abs. Prove you can do this, and this will help you. Otherwise don't waste my time.'

'What the fuck?' He asks, because not only was it unexpected, it wasn't fair.

'Do you want to win because you deserve it? Or because of your abs?' She repeats.

They both know he can win by using social media alone, he's got over 5 million followers on twitter, but does he want to do the work.

Honestly, he wants to just float by, get good press and be back as a golden boy. But he has met Annie Cresta and he knows that if he says that, she'll wash her hands of him almost completely and it will show in their work.

It won't be something he truly earned.

'Deserve it.' His eyes never leave her's and he falls back into the stretch, forcing his hands to his toes.

He thinks he can see her smile.

* * *

When he gets home, before he starts to get ready for the script tomorrow, he googles Annie Cresta.

She's a year younger than him, at twenty-three, and is considered an eccentric genius in the dance world. She is somehow one of the principle ballerinas in the New York City Ballet, which confuses him because this is a ballroom dancing competition, until he reads more and finds out that Annie won junior ballroom championships globally for years until she was sixteen when her partner was killed in a car crash.

She apparently quit ballroom, until this year.

Huh.

He watches some of her old videos and she's breathtaking.

Fifteen year old Annie is being tossed around by her partner, who holds her like a lover, the apple of everyone's eye, demanding attention.

It's interesting.

He wants to reach for some snow, but instead he grabs a sugar cube.

* * *

He comes prepared, with Gatorade and track pants and a tank top. He even bought dance shoes from a dance shop he found before practise.

It's five thirty in the morning, but traffic kills in L.A. and he doesn't know how badly she'll kill him if he's late.

He's not surprise to see Annie already dressed and warming up. He is surprised that there's a small purple suitcase in the corner.

'You're early.' She says, not moving from the splits.

'Going anywhere?' He nods to the case in the corner, finishing his Starbucks.

'Haven't checked into the hotel yet.' Annie says, 'Do hip circles before you try the splits.'

'Hotel?' He tosses his stuff in the corner and follows her orders. 'You're based in New York right?'

'Mhm.' Annie presses herself to the ground, still in the splits.

'Are you only flying in to L.A because of me?' He switches directions, a bit annoyed that she isn't paying attention to his hips.

Everyone likes his hips.

'The show.' She corrects, 'I'm only here for the show.'

'Still, if you need a place to stay, you can always bunk at my place.' He offers more out of obligation than anything.

'No thank you.' She refuses him tightly.

He's done his research, and he's done stuns before, but still quick step is a lot harder than he expected. He can do the basic left to right steps, and when it's at a normal speed he can do it perfectly, but once Annie was satisfied he got the basics down, she pushed them to full speed.

He's out of breathe and his knees hurt. And this is just the first three hours.

'It's like the Great Gatsby.' Annie says, 'Smooth, jazz, and charming. Just…act that. And don't look down.'

'Helpful.' He goes to his bag, and takes out his baggie of sugar cubes, feeling the pin prick of Annie's stare. 'It's sugar.' He tells her, offering her the bag.

She declines. 'I trust you.'

They leave at ten, only because she needs to check into the hotel and he drives her because it's only polite.

It's an awkward silence, where he can see Annie fighting to keep her eyes open. He knows she danced last night, and the earliest she got out was probably eleven and then she must have hoped on the plane to LA right after that.

He wonders how much sleep she's actually getting.

* * *

The first press day, is the next day and everyone is in awe when he arrives, coffee in hand in tight pants and a vintage t-shirt with a toque. He is by far the biggest name and the top contender.

The dancers seem to make more noise when his partner, in tights and an oversized sweater with her hair down and her grip on her cup is tight.

'Shit.' Johanna, one of the dancers whose won the past seven years in a row.' They brought out Crazy.'

He's insulted by what the short haired victor says, but Annie doesn't seem phased.

He doesn't ask her about it

The first night, they get eights.

His knees were too high.

Annie's pissed, but he doesn't say anything.

His hands are cramping, and he wants a hit so fucking bad.

He can't though, his Teen Wolf spot is based on the fact he needs to be sober and his fortune is all in white powder that he flushed away.

He reaches for the sugar bowl and jams a handful of sugar cubes into his mouth.

It's not the same.

* * *

It's the fifth week, when they have to do the Salsa that his phone beeps. He's set a google alert on both him, and Annie since the show began to air, and he's surprised more than anything of the article that the New York Times wrote:

**The Return of The Queen**

_If you asked anyone about competitive ballroom dancing about ten years ago, and asked who the ones to beat were, the name on pro's lips would be to watch out for Annie Cresta and Reid Niles. Cresta and Niles were the reigning champions of the Junior global ballroom scene, until a car accident tragically took the life of Niles who was only seventeen. Cresta quit the ballroom scene and dispeared from the spotlight, relatively speaking, studying at Julliard before becoming a principle dancer at the New York Ballet._

_And until now, she hasn't touched the ballroom scene._

_So when __Dancing With The Stars __debuted their new lineup, there was a double shock: Thrice Oscar winning Actor Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta; more surprisingly that the two were partnered up._

_Finn Odair (24) who won his first Oscar at fourteen in __Rabbit Hole__, followed by a best supporting actor Oscar at seventeen (__Lamplight__) and his most recent Best Actor Oscar two years ago in __No Idea__ ran into trouble when his crack cocaine habit came to light, and he spent the last year of his life in a rehab in Beverly Hills. _

_Odair and Cresta have yet to score higher than an 8.7, however Odair's popularity is what keeping them in the running. By this point in the competition most of the partners have hit their stride, and found their right chemistry, but Odair and Cresta are distant. We know Odair is capable of moving us to tears and make us love him, and Cresta's choreography is emotional; but between both of them are unable to perform to their full abilities._

_It's very disappointing for both of them._

He read and re-reads the article, trying to find a way to fault them. It's only three weeks in, they haven't hit their stride, and they're looking at the long game rather in the short game.

He comes up empty.

He's only been a disappointment once, when Mags found about his habit and even then she just held him as he flushed the packets down and drove him to rehab.

His habit had been treated by the papers and the rest of Hollywood as a rite of passage, something just waiting to air.

He hates being a disappointment.

**[SMS to The Ballerina]** have u seen it?

He doesn't get a reply, so he goes and films his scene.

He's going through the motions, not feeling the way Mark needs to feel. He's almost bored with the way Mark is right now, still not coming to terms with his wife's death, ignoring it and staring at her facebook page waiting for her to update her status.

It's not until the end of the day, when he's driving back to his house when his phone beeps.

**[SMS from The Ballerina]** Yes.

**[SMS from The Ballerina]** Is there any way you can come to New York?

**[SMS from The Ballerina]** Forget that, I will come to L.A Friday, we need to talk.

* * *

He' s at Fogo De Chãq at six thirty Friday night, and the paparazzi are going crazy. It's really his first public appearance; he's being lying low like Mags told him. There's water for him, as he's trying the whole completely sober bit.

He's seen the wine list, he's rather disappointed.

There's the sound of heels clicking on tiles, and he can see Annie, her long brown hair down and she's wearing a sundress being led towards him. He stands and greets her, cameras flash.

'Sorry about that.' He says easily, smiling.

'It's fine.' She says quietly, 'Thanks for meeting me.'

They're asked for their drink order, and he's surprised when Annie declines a drink.

'No problem. So how are you?'

'Tired,' Annie says, her green eyes drinking him in, and he wonders what she's think. 'Thanks for asking. How are you?'

He pauses and reflects on the question; she's honest with him and there's no reason why he can't be as well.

'Kinda pissed.'

She nods, 'I am too.'

'You don't look it.' The way she sits, perfect posture and looking at the bread basket as if she is deciding if she wants another one.

'Haven't you ever had bad reviews?' She asks, taking one and pushing it closer to him. 'You can't let them get to you.'

He snorts, taking a breadstick. 'And how many bad reviews do you get?'

'A year? At least five hundred.' Annie pauses, thinking thoughtfully, 'I'm not sure the total number.'

'What the fuck?'

'I don't dance with expression; I'm too emotional, too controlling, too eccentric, too distant' Annie lists, like she's reciting a grocery list. 'It goes on. But the thing is, if someone is complaining about you they're noticing you right?'

'And that's good?' He leans in, 'Wouldn't you rather be known for how good you are?'

'Well yeah, ideally I would.' Annie shrugs, 'But you need to be noticed first. And they're noticing.'

'Why are you taking this so well?' He asks, and he's surprised to see a small smile creep up on Annie's face; it takes away the melancholy in her eyes, making her look more alive.

'Because everyone loves a comeback story.' She tells him.

He finds himself mirroring her smile.

* * *

The next day, his phone keeps beeping over photos of him and Annie going all over the internet.

They're called a beautiful couple, and people wonder if they're dating. People are trying to decipher their relationship, and explain their body language.

Apparently, his hand was on the small of her back as he directed her to his car before he drove her to her hotel, to save her cab fare, and that is a universal code for going to fuck in the hotel apparently.

He's rolling his eyes, as he skims through it.

He pauses at a photo; it's one he likes, surprisingly. It's when they're waiting for dessert, and he's telling her his story about a sea turtle. He's leaning back, completely relaxed, absorbed in the story and she's leaning forward, her eyes sparkling completely engaged.

It's like they're in their own world.

He can understand the dating rumours from that photo.

'Are you okay with it?' He asks, as Annie plays him the music. She's forgone traditional Latin music, wanting something different.

'With what?' Her hair's up in a messy knot and she's moving her hips to the beat. 'Do you like it? I think it's time we change the rules.'

'It's good.' He really doesn't care about the song choice, 'The photos, is your boyfriend mad? Don't we need to follow the rules?'

'Oh, yeah, it's fine.' Annie says, pushing a chair to the center of the room. 'We are-sort of. But did you win Oscars by following the rules?'

She smirks at him, and he wonders how much about him does she actually know. He did win his first Oscar, by reading the script once, than lighting it on fire and letting his emotions lead him. The biopolar, impulsive Aiden leapt off the screen, with him never following everything perfectly.

'Point.' He says, 'So what's the plan?'

'Emotions.' Annie says, 'Smart music and sex.'

He chokes on his water. 'Excuse me?'

'Make the sex appeal upfront and in your face, so they have to think about other things. Make them bored with how you look topless, and focus on your lines.' Annie says,' So you're starting in the chair…did you listen to the music? It's all about wanting someone whose not good for you. So basically, you are the bad guy, or just someone bad for me to date, and I am trying to forget you and it's not working.'

'And how are_ you_ going to do sexy?' He sits in the chair, watching Annie take a few steps in front of him to get the staging right. Annie is never someone in your face, she's subtle, her beauty something generic until you have to take a second or third look, and then you see how breathtaking she is.

She laughs. 'I'll manage.'

* * *

The day of the show, he's waiting back stage wearing a suit jacket and dress pants and shoes but no shirt.

Annie's low whistle makes him turn, and he almost blushes. Instead he lets his gaze drop, taking in Annie's dress, there's a slit in the leg that goes so high, and there's a high collar to the dress; but when she turns he can see it's backless.

'You clean up good.' He tells her.

'Sexy enough?' She laughs, spinning for him.

'Getting there. Maybe Catholic school girl sexy.' He says giving her a once over. 'But there's no way you're going to prove to me you want me.'

Annie throws her head back and laughs, it sounds like silver bells chiming around the room. 'Just wait until I dance.'

It's hot. She's pressed against him, like a second skin and it feels more intmate than it should, the way he moves her around the floor, the way her hands trace his body like he's a drug and she's an addict.

He knows it's only a role, but he's almost convinced that he wants to corrupt her with everything he is.

And so, when they end, him lounging in the chair, and her trying to walk away, he changes the ending his hand locking on her wrist and he spins her back into his lap, and she follows willingly he wants to think, and kisses her.

When the music stops and the lights go up, he breaks the kiss, and Annie's green eyes are wide, looking at him like she's never seen him and he's out of breathe; one hand is holding onto his forearm, her other hand flat on his chest.

They don't talk, when they get their scores, they don't even seem exhilarated with the ten they're giving.

'I'm sorry.' He says automatically, off stage.

'Don't worry about it.' She says tightly, and her smile doesn't really reach her eyes. 'I said we were breaking all the rules right?'

* * *

The papers go wild.

She doesn't answer any of his texts.

* * *

Their cha-cha is decent, but Annie still isn't talking to him, beside the basics.

He fucked up.

And the rumours about them dating aren't going anywhere.

According to the tabloids they both recently got stripe shirts, something that shows their couple-dom.

Mags didn't comment when he set it on fire.

* * *

After another week of bare minimum contact, he decides to take two days off and fly to New York. He has to apologize and get things where it was easy going, and fun teasing.

He likes that, and it's much better than the cold front he's got now.

Hell he'd even take the polite but distant Annie from the beginning.

Anything is better than this, and he doesn't even want to know why he wants something better than this.

Fuck, this would be probably better than anything else. He doesn't need someone else while he's busy trying to get his own life in line.

He pauses there, and rewinds. He doesn't need Annie.

But apparently he wants her, because he's never been this desperate to get someone to forgive him before.

And this is bad.

Very bad.

He can't want Annie.

Annie isn't a girl.

No she is, but she's not Finnick's type of girls. Finnick's girls are the ones you fuck and leave; they aren't the one you spend days on the sand day dreaming, or thunder storms doing crosswords.

And that's the type of girl Annie is.

That's commitment. He doesn't do commitment.

He almost takes the next flight back to L.A., but Mags already reserved his seat for the ballet so he might as well go.

Right before the show begins, and he has to turn off his phone, he sends her a message.

**[SMS to The Ballerina]** Break a leg tonight. You look beautiful.

He's seen Annie dance before, and he googled the plot of Swan Lake before coming; but he's never seen her do ballet.

She transforms, she's malleable and he's transport through the story. His eyes never leave her.

**[SMS from The Ballerina] **Come backstage when the show's done.

He's recognized of course, but he just nods and waves as he weaves his way through the crowd to be admitted back stage.

'Hello?' Her door is open, and he knocks cautiously.

'Hi.' Annie's hair is still up, and her face is freshly washed without make up, she's dressed in track pants and an oversized hoodie. 'I didn't know you were coming.'

'Thought we needed to talk.' He shrugs helplessly.

She bites her lip. 'Yeah…I…yeah.'

It's awkward, and he looks at Annie, truly looking at her.

She looks pale and tired, with dark smudges under her eyes.

'I don't know how to make this right.' It slips out, small, low and helplessly.

'Oh Finnick,' She sighs, 'this isn't something that can be right.'

* * *

She leads him to her apartment. It's small, one bedroom, with cosy decorations and over stuffed arm chairs. A fat black cat lays on the center of the couch, his yellow eyes glaring at him when he enters Annie's apartment.

'Make yourself at home.' Annie tells him, disappearing into her bedroom and reappearing without her ballet bag. She's barefoot and padding to the kitchen, 'Would you like something to drink?'

'I'm good.'

She remerges with two cups of camellia tea.

'It's not all your fault.' She tells him, curled up in an armchair, away from him. 'I mean yeah, the kiss kinda freaked me out…but it's more than that.'

'What?'

'Reid.' Annie says softly, and he has to think hard to remember where he heard that name before. 'Reid…he was my boyfriend and my partner and I mean obviously we will never be together, but it was just…a lot of emotions and things I wasn't really ready for.'

'Oh.' Finnick says, still processing everything she said. He's disappointed for some reason. 'I didn't know.'

'You couldn't.' She tells him. 'I just…I needed to clear my head and I should have told you. I'm sorry.'

'You don't-' He stops because she's glaring at him. 'Let's be honest then. One hundred percent honest with each other. No hiding anything. Okay?'

She nods.

'Why are you doing this?' He asks her, watching her carefully. That's the one thing he doesn't know.

She's working full time, performing, and she teaches at Julliard once a week; with such a busy scheduale he doesn't understand why she's doing the show.

Annie drinks the tea, and considers the question carefully. 'I was tired of not doing something I loved because it made me sad. After Reid, I never wanted to dance again. Jo…knew me back then, and I went to a comp after his funeral, and I just…I threw a fit. I threw chairs and I had to be escorted out. It was too much…too soon maybe. '

Annie pauses, and her eyes meet his. 'But the thing is, I've been dancing since I was two. I don't know anything but dance, and if I couldn't do ballroom…I just switched to the most disciplined genre, so I didn't have to think.'

'And the show?'

She shrugs, 'They asked me and I said yes. I thought…maybe it was time. Was not expecting you.'

'No one was.' He chuckles, 'I was the best kept secret.'

There's a silence, it's a nice one though; not like their cold front.

'Why am I the ballerina?' She asks suddenly, shifting the conversation.

'What?'

'In your phone,' she elaborates, 'It's not my name, it's just "The Ballerina."'

'Oh.' He feels rather hot, and embarrassed. 'It's nothing personal. There's just a lot of people and I'm bad at names…'

'Is there anyone whose name is actually their name?'

'Mags, my manager.'

Annie nods, and the conversation shifts again when he asks her to explain the point of Swan Lake.

* * *

When Finnick wakes up there is a crick in his neck and everything feels uncomfortable. He also doesn't know where he is, the various pale shades of purple and the dark wood is different from his chrome and black colour scheme.

There is also a cat, meowing in his face.

He blinks and stretches and he can see Annie curled up fast asleep in her armchair. He doesn't know how late they stayed up, talking about video games and books but they apparently fell asleep.

'Alright cat I'll feed you.' He grumbles, moving to the kitchen, not surprised to see purple there. There's a ceramic circular container with "Meow" in cursive script; He hazards a guess that's where the cat food is, and he's rewarded by the brown kibble and an affection leg rub before being ignored.

He rummages through her cupboards, finding the coffee-instant shit; he needs to talk to her about her taste in coffee- and makes himself a cup.

He's busy trying to find her sugar, when there's a sound behind him and he sees Annie rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, looking bemused as she leans against the doorframe.

'Morning.' He says, 'We need to talk about your coffee.'

'My coffee?' She asks, and the cat winds its way around her legs. 'I don't drink coffee.'

'Exactly.' He says, finally finding her sugar bowl and dumping half of the content in, ignoring her raised eyebrow. 'If you want to get to full name status in my phone, you need to get on my coffee level.'

'Ooh, full name status,' Annie teases, bumping him out of the way so she can make tea, 'I don't know if I can handle that.'

'Not many people can.' He says solemnly, his eyes twinkle.

Annie nods, 'Well then I will be waiting with bated breath.'

Annie doesn't have to go to the theatre until five, and his flight is at six; so they spend the day going from coffee shop to used book store to coffee shop to video game store.

The cameras follow them everywhere, and after the second time he apologized Annie told him to forget it. The cameras come with the job.

He manages to make Annie try a latte, and she wrinkles up her nose and makes him have a medium Columbia blend with no sugar.

'Saving you from diabetes.' She smiles, and all he can do is roll his eyes at her.

* * *

They get two tens, the cover of _People_ and a million rumours spreading about them dating.

Annie takes to sending him her favourite rumours.

**[SMS from Annie Cresta]** Apparently we were at a swingers party.

**[SMS to Annie Cresta]** was this during my Saturday Night Live rehersal?

**[SMS from Annie Cresta]** Yes. I managed to do a solo and two guys at the same time.

**[SMS to Annie Cresta]** impressive flexability :P

**[SMS from Annie Cresta]** You know what they say about dancers…

* * *

On week nine, he picks her up from the airport, and she's dragging a green suitcase behind her.

'Hey.' He greets her, pushing her hands off the case.

'Hey.'

'No purple?' She explained once, how purple is her favourite colour because it goes well with her eyes. It does, he loves seeing her in purple.

'Wanted to change it up.' Annie shrugs,' Thanks for picking me up.'

'I have an ulterior motive,' Finnick says, and they both ignore the cameras. They're just friends but it's not going to be believed by the press. 'This film I'm shooting is just pissing me off and I need to vent.'

'Can I get out of the car?' Annie jokes, as he pulls out onto the highway. 'What's wrong?'

'It's this indie film, where this guy is trying to come to terms with his wife's death and it's just not working for me. Like…I don't understand anything about him.'

'I wish it was about the werewolves.' Annie sighs, 'I was hoping to get spoilers. Well tell me about him?'

'The werewolves?' he looks at her as he changes lanes, he was not expecting that.

'No, the guy with the dead wife.'

'He's a normal twenty-five year old guy. His wife got killed in a shooting at a mall.' He says, 'There isn't much depth to him.'

'Then give him depth. I've seen you do it.'

'Really?'

'Yeah. _Lamplight_ is my favourite movie…well _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ is, but _Lamplight_ is my second favourite.'

'I didn't know that.'

'Like I was going to stroke your ego.' Annie makes a face, as he pulls off the interstate. 'But seriously, so the guy's a normal guy. Then…I don't know…what would you be like if you weren't Finn Odair, actor. But just Finnick Odair? Maybe that's what this film should be for you…being just you?'

He's silent for a bit, and keeps her words in the back of his mind when they end up at his place.

She had spent a week telling him it was much more beneficial for her to stay in a hotel; he ignored her. He has a spare room, they're going in the same locations-why make it difficult?

He makes grilled salmon, the only thing he can cook, and she makes rice and roasted edamame, and they catch up with House of Cards (It's his favourite show, Annie's never seen it. He's about to suggest a marathon when he remembers they have to be at the studio at six to go over the choreography.)

When he's in his California king sized bed, Annie's words come back to the forefront of his mind.

Who would Finn Odair be if he wasn't a movie star?

He'd probably have graduated school and gone to college, maybe studied English. He always loved reading books, and maybe he'd go on to grad school. Or maybe he'd be a publisher.

He's from a small town up North, closer to the Canadian border than the rest of California, he'd still be close with his parents, instead of estranged; he'd make fun of movie stars, and probably wouldn't have developed his coke habit.

He might be married; or at least in a long term relationship, instead of his string of hook ups. Someone like Annie, he thinks. He'd like to marry someone with a dry sense of humour, who hides how geek she is, but drops references in conversation. Beautiful, in an understated way. Someone put together.

Someone who loves books.

He thinks he would like that.

* * *

On Monday, he's convinced Annie to stay until four when she has to fly out; he takes her to the set.

It's one of the breaking points in the film, where his sister-in-law screams at him to wake up and accept it.

The actress, Hilary screams at him, screaming, and screaming, and he knows he should react, but he doesn't know how to; and he can see Annie out of the corner of his eye, transfixed.

And now he's Finnick Odair, now he's just who he could have been, and he could have loved Annie.

He could have loved her so much, and have her taken away, so suddenly, just at the beginning when they had years and years for something so pointless and stupid-

'Shut up.' He roars, 'Shut up, shut up, shut the fuck up'

He's deviating off script, and the actress jumps and falls silent.

'Get out.' He yanks Hilary by the arm, pushing her towards, his heart pounding because he doesn't want someone whose telling him the truth when it's so painful to hear around him. 'Get out.'

He slams the door shut, holding the door handle while she pounds on the other side.

'I'm not ready….No…no…I'm not ready.' It comes out broken, and gasping. He's surprised that he's crying. 'I'm not ready.'

The set is so quiet.

'Cut.' Jack, the director orders.

He feels numb, and he can't let go from the door knob. People are moving to redress the set, to get another take, and it doesn't register that someone is approaching him, until Jack claps him on the back.

'Fuck man.' Jack whistles, 'That was brilliant. I was really worried, because you were so detached with most scenes, but I get it man. I totally get it. Much more raw.'

He nods as he tries to gather himself, it wasn't what he was going for but he's not going to tell Jack that he got lost in his own imagination.

He goes towards Annie whose clutching his coffee and her tea, she's watching him with wide eyes.

'Hey.' She whispers.

'Hey.' He takes his coffee.

'Kinda intense.'

'I'm sort of an intense guy.' He tries to make a joke and it feels a bit flat; but Annie smiles anyway.

She hugs him with one hand, fitting neatly under his chin. 'Anyone who says you're a wash out hasn't seen anything yet.'

* * *

By the time they're in the top three, he's done wrapping both his _Teen Wolf_ stint and the film, and has decided to take a vacation to New York.

This gets the papers talking more, when Annie greets him at the airport, and he hugs her.

'Gotta give them something to talk about.' He whispers into her hair as he spins her around. She laughs and kisses his cheek.

'I want pregnancy rumours.' She tells him, her eyes sparklingly as they get into a cab to her apartment.

He swallows.

He has come to terms with the fact he does like Annie, as more than a girl. She's also his best friend, which is weird.

And he knows while both of them are single, Annie won't get involved with him.

But it's hard when they text and watch movies over Skype, and trade book recommendations (She likes turn of the century books, he prefers post modernism. They both love poetry).

They order Hawaiian pizza, and play _Borderlands 2_ until three in the morning, when Annie passes out. He carries her gingerly into her bed, trying to avoid the cat who she claims likes him.

He tucks her under the covers, and is about to camp out on the small sofa when she grabs his wrist,

'You can stay.' She says softly, 'It's okay.'

'Are you sure?'

She nods, and his heart does this odd flip flop in his chest.

* * *

It's almost eight in the morning when he wakes up. The sun is coming through her blinds, and Annie is sprawled out in the bed, pushing him to the side. There's the cat in between them, and Annie's arms are cradling his left arm to her chest.

It's both the most uncomfortable and comfortable way he's ever slept, and he wants to do this again and again.

Annie's beautiful.

And he's fucking in love with her.

* * *

'Hey,' Finnick pokes Annie as she stretches; it's their final dance as a couple, and they're dressed simply.

He's wearing jeans and an off white button down shirt; she's wearing an off white sundress. It's his idea, to do their final performance as not Finn Odair, actor and Annie Cresta, genius ballerina; but as just Finnick and Annie whoever they are.

'Thanks for doing this.'

Annie smiles, 'Thanks for doing it with me.'

He squeezes her hand, and when they walk on stage they're holding hands.

_Iris_ by the Goo Goo Dolls start, and they waltz.

It's not a show, it's just him and her, dancing. He can't keep his eyes off of her, and she's looking at him like he's an answer to some question he doesn't even remembering asking.

It's perfect for them.

And all too soon, the music stops and they're forced from their bubble to get judged.

They get a standing ovation.

He doesn't remember what is being said, if there is any criticism or anything of the sort, because when they get backstage Annie kisses him.

* * *

_**Long Live The King**_

_Not many actors have the career Finn Odair has. Plucked from obscurity at fourteen he astounded the world in his first ever film, playing a boy dealing with his sexual assault, winning him his first Oscar. He kept on churning out hits and racking up awards, and there seemed nowhere to go but up._

_But at twenty-three, Odair was hospitalized because of an overdose to crack cocaine, something he admitted to Rolling Stone, he began using at sixteen._

"_It just fell into my lap. The girls and the sex and the drugs were always there, and I mean people told me no don't do it, but they were also the people who were cutting lines in their dressing room so who was I to take their advice?" Odair said, from a coffee shop in Brooklyn he frequents with his long time love Annie Cresta (25), "It completely ran my life for a good eight years. And I was okay with it-I was a quick fix to forget and not have to worry. Nothing long term, which was what I wanted. I never wanted to commit-to anything."_

_And that included women, Odair has been linked to over fifty different women in the twelve years he's been acting, none of them save the ballerina Annie Cresta has he admitted to being in a relationship with nor been seen with for more than a month. _

_After his addiction became public, Odair's stock and star in Hollywood fell quickly. "It's understandable, no one wants bad press, and I was turning out shit work anyway. Mags basically sat me down and said you need to start fresh, that everything I had worked for was gone up in flames because of my habit really got through to me. I did 'Teen Wolf' and 'Marble.'" _

'_Marble' of course, was what nominated him for his third Best Actor Oscar, which he unfortunately lost to Leonardo Di Caprio. However, Odair doesn't credit 'Marble' or 'Teen Wolf' with what has gotten him back into the most wanted actor in the industry, but 'Dancing With The Stars'_

"_So Mags made me do the show, and honestly I didn't really care. I figured it would be an easy win, and I'd get some housewives to want me. It wasn't something I'd ever consider life changing." Odair laughs, "Course that's when I met Annie, and we did not get along for a while. I was just going to float through it, and she wanted me to put effort into it-bad mix really. But she really helped me. She told me that everyone loves a comeback story, and that if people are noticing than obviously we need to put on a show and other things. But the point is Annie made me connect to Mark in 'Marble', and 'Marble' is what made people realize I'm still around, down put not out and all that."_

_Odair laughed at the idea that Cresta is the reason he's sober, "She didn't save me, don't romanticize addiction. I'm still an addict, will always be an addict, but it's different. Even if the world is out to get me, there's still someone in my corner. Same with her. It's Team Finnick and Annie against the world. Team Odesta against the world.'_

_It's at the end of the interview, when Odair has his coat on and about to leave, when he grinned at us and told us in parting. 'That's what a marriage is; you're in the long haul.'_

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you for reading, and I hope you liked it!

My tumblr is seevikifangirl, drop by!


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